


Wendigo

by remus_bloody_lupin



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Adopted Abigail Hobbs, Fishing, Hannibal - Freeform, Hannibal NBC - Freeform, POV Will Graham
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-19
Updated: 2020-09-19
Packaged: 2021-03-08 01:13:26
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,635
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26547316
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/remus_bloody_lupin/pseuds/remus_bloody_lupin
Summary: Will Graham comes to terms with the hardships that Hannibal put on him. He took away Abigail more times that it feels like he can count. He is left feeling empty with the question "will you forgive me" bouncing around his head.





	Wendigo

The loud patter of rain blurs into silence, my damp hair clinging to my ears. The rain falls noiselessly at my feet as I push open the door with my free hand, the gun slick against my numb, soaked fingers. I strain my ears to listen for the heavy pants of Crawford, but I can’t force my ears to find any sound. The question of where he could be pounding against my eyes.  
Light traces of red blend into the carpet in the dark house. Kitchen lights illuminating just past my line of vision, but I turn from it to the dark stairway. My feet methodically propel myself forward into the depression of the house until the dim light catches on a small, reflective pool of red outside a door. My hands shake as they raise, holding the silver gun in both hands, forcing support into my grasp. I push open the door with my foot, finding the eye of the gun pointed at your terrified face, the faded scar on your neck poking out against your pale skin.  
“Abigail?” My voice comes out weak and I force my hands to steady as I lower the gun, keeping it prepared to protect you.   
“I didn’t know what else to do, so I just did what he told me.” Tears clog your voice, choking you as you give me a half-explanation.  
“Where is he?” I lower my gun fully in an attempt to calm you down, but your eyes only widen, the blue of your iris glazing over as they stare past me. My body shifts slightly, but without fully turning, I know he stands just behind me. My breath catches in my lungs, but I force myself to speak, the metallic scent of blood heavy on the essence behind me. “You were supposed to leave.”  
***  
I made a place for you in this world. It’s not a large place, but it’s what I could manage. In this place, you can be safe, you will be safe. Anyone or anything yearning to harm you cannot reach you here. The demons that attack your mind and the ones that reside in mine can no longer grab you with dirty paws, dried blood caked under overgrown fingernails. A place was made for you; a youth who never got to know the wonders of the world, only the torment. But now you’re safe; finally, you are safe.  
***  
We can stand together in a river, water up to our knees but never soaking our pants or swimming in our shoes. The water sends lovely ripples around us as we spin and laugh, sending fishing lures behind us and casting them far forward, hoping to catch a dream. You send one forward but you miss, catching me on the stomach. You catch on a healing wound, not yet come to terms with the evil of the world, and you tear me open straight to my heart. And you turn from me, a smile still on your face, and you ask me when he will arrive.  
***  
When I finally turn to face him, my feet involuntarily force me backward. The wrinkles across his face are deepened, glaring at me in his passive expression. Bloodstains, still wet, drip down his shoulder and smear across the darkness of his face.  
“We couldn’t leave without you,” his voice, sultry as always, whispers as he steps closer to me. My feet remain planted to the ground, letting the man I thought I knew approach me. His hand reaches up, caressing my cheek. His face hovers close to mine and as I let out a soft breath, a sharp searing pain enters my abdomen. His curved knife forces itself into my stomach; his hand touches my skin, molding himself with me as I gasp and cry out, grabbing onto his shoulder.  
“I let you know me, see me.” He whispers through his clenched teeth, dropping the knife and hugging my neck to his shoulder. “I gave you a rare gift, but you didn’t want it.”  
Blood bubbles in my throat like tears. “Didn’t I?”  
***  
When you drop something on the ground, is it sane to wonder if it will come together again, fixing itself and defying gravity just for your sanity? I don’t drop things so elegantly, I throw them to the ground, like bullets hitting cabinets and linoleum floors.  
His voice ricochets off my brain as I pull dirty dishes off the counter and send them flying to the ground, my screams mixing with his voice residing in my mind.  
“Time did reverse, the teacup that I shattered did come back together.”  
I throw a spoon and it bounces up from the ground, hitting me on the knee but refusing to shatter. It can’t break, so it can’t fix what has been broken.  
I scream and kick and I rip the hairs out of my head. Fishing lures detach themselves from the safety of locked drawers and I carve my anger into the wall, chipping away at the yellowing paint.   
***  
“You would deny me my life.”  
I slide down from his body, releasing my grasp and I fall to the ground, curled up around myself and hugging the open wound in my stomach. “No, not your life,” I mutter, reaching up to wipe a small tear of blood off of my chin.  
“My freedom, then.” His voice grows uncharacteristically harsh, his usual soft, knowing nature thrown to the side as the hurt in his voice grows more apparent. “You would take that away from me. Confine me to a prison cell.” He doesn’t move; doesn’t turn to grab me, pull me to my feet, or hold me again.  
I told him to run, but he didn’t run. Now I am paying for it. Crawford, somewhere, is paying for it. You will pay for it.  
***  
My heart beats along with the one he gave us like he gave you your safety. He’s not here, but he’s close. The place reeks of him: overpriced cologne, spices, and dried blood. I can feel the knowing smirk plastered upon his face, knowing that I am here, that we are here, in the safe place he has created. I feel a familiar pull against my stomach and I need to sit before I make myself sick.  
The smell is overwhelming, but everyone else is blind. My mind spins as the demons take over and your image fogs in my eyes. Your brown hair, muddled with red as the tears erase the image that my heart had created. He made a place for you, but I took it over. I took its reins so that I could keep you here forever with me, but not along by my side.  
There is no place for you in this world.  
***  
His call for you rings through my mind. I feel the blood mixing with the fabric of my shirt, the rain from outside chilling my body and freezing me to my spot. You blindly walk toward him, knowing that he is all you have left of your safety. He grabs the knife that once carved my stomach and he presses it to the old scar on your neck. I cry and I plead, but it does nothing to keep his hand from pulling back, sending you to the ground in gasps and sputtering of blood mixed with saliva.  
The images of the first time I ever saw you pound against my eyes; your father’s smug face as I sent him to the ground with the actions of my gun. I held your neck tightly but while your eyes rolled back, it was he who lifted your head, it was he who saved you. Now he is taking away your life. I try to crawl, but he leans down, his face close to mine again.  
“You can make it all go away. Put your head back, close your eyes, wade into the quiet of the stream.” I gasp and force myself over to you, hand over my stomach, the light slowly fading from your eyes. I watch, out of the corner of my eye, as he leaves his family, his life, his safety, alone in the upstairs room, bleeding out onto the ground.  
***  
I stand in the river, but you are not next to me. He is. A demonic version of himself, or maybe the normal version of himself. The fishing lure is still lodged in my stomach where you had sent it, caught in the wound that he created that can never be healed. The water below me turns red and the fish slap at my feet, now soaking wet and aching against my too-tight boots. And he smiles at me as my vision blurs. I feel so faint. The whole river turns red beneath me and I whisper, “I forgive you.”  
***  
“Fate and circumstance have returned us to this moment when the teacup shatters.” Hannibal’s voice still rings through the air long after he left. He made sure I wouldn’t die; he was careful. He wasn’t so careful with Crawford; he simply was unlucky. But you, he skillfully created a different world where you could survive by my side, even if it isn’t in my hospital bed.  
“I forgive you, Will.”  
My eyes struggle to hold themselves open, blood fogging my vision around the empty room. No one cares about the survivors; they just want to find him. They’ll never find him: he hid among us for so long and no one could see through his ruse.   
But I could, that’s why he trusted me. I destroyed his trust. I was the only one who could see him, know him, and I turned my back on him. I placed myself in this hospital bed, and you in your grave.  
“Will you forgive me?”


End file.
